


Blinds Drawn

by theleaveswant



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Losers (2010), Thor (2011)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Espionage, Infidelity, M/M, Motels, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Sex Is Not The Enemy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/theleaveswant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>clandestine rendez-vous</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blinds Drawn

Roque's heart starts thumping as soon as the anonymous text comes through. He makes his excuses and heads for his car, wondering as he drives to the motel when this thing became a _thing_ , when it started to matter so much, to get him so worked up. 

He already knows where to park for maximum ease of exfiltration, and the clang of every step of the rusty staircase leading to the second floor arcade of rooms echoes with familiarity. He stops just to the side of the door, _the_ door, same as always, keeping the stuccoed wall between himself and any occupants, out of view of the peephole and the shaded window. He draws his sidearm and checks it before entering, keeps the safety on but leaves his thumb hovering over it as he reaches for the door handle. The door gives, opening inward just a crack. When the movement is not answered with gunfire or an explosion, Roque sighs in relief, knowing at the same time that this by no means guarantees safety. 

Roque keeps taut and alert as he enters, leading with his gun, sweeping the room fast and settling his sight on the figure sitting in shadow in the most defensible corner, back to the wall with unobstructed routes to cover either behind the bed or into the bathroom, out of sight of the window. He sighs again and lowers his weapon when the figure leans forward enough into the dim and gritty light filtering through the drawn curtains that Roque can make out his face and the calm reassurance on it, and he nudges the door shut behind him with his boot. 

"Followed?" Phil asks.

"No," Roque says, dropping the gun by his side. "Monitored?"

"No." Phil stands and holds out an unmarked manila envelope. "All of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s latest intel on Max. Actually looks like some promising stuff this time."

Roque accepts the envelope with a cursory glance, then tosses it on the dresser next to the tv. "Later," he says. "Right now I don't want to think about work."

He sets his gun down on top of the file and takes one ground-eating stride across the room towards Phil, who moves forward smoothly to meet him. 

Their mouths crash together hard enough that Roque bites the edge of his own tongue, tasting iron as he pulls Phil to him and paws at his torso, crumpling his suit jacket before Phil has the chance to shrug it off. After that it's all hands and mouths and muttered curses and not, _not_ thinking about Clay, until they're lying, spooning, naked and spent on the room's only bed, sweat and cum soaking into the yellow sheets.

Phil nuzzles at Roque's scarred shoulder, plants a kiss, and Roque unsticks his throat enough to ask, "Where to this time? Can you say?"

"No," Phil answers, but he does anyway: "New Mexico. Looks like a weird one, but you know I'll take almost anything to get out of babysitting Tony Stark."

Roque snorts. "Trade you," he offers. Phil barks a laugh.

"You don't really want to do that. You know Clay'd lose his shit once he noticed you were gone, and I'd have a hell of a time explaining to my bosses how Stark ended up dead or in traction."

"Are you suggesting that I'm less in control of my anger than you are?"

"I'm suggesting that Tony Stark has a knack for pushing buttons and too little sense to stop when he knows what'll happen."

Roque snorts again. "You're getting good at that office politics shit, huh?"

Phil sighs. "I appreciate the desire to help—" Roque smirks but lets Phil keep pretending that that's what it was— "and I'd take you up on it if I could. You know that."

"I know."

Phil hooks his chin over Roque's shoulder and squeezes his arms tighter around his chest. "How're the rest of your boys doing?"

"Good," Roque says automatically, then swallows and elaborates. "They're getting restless. It's not easy in the cold, looking over your shoulder all the time, with no idea who's out to get you. They're not used to it."

Phil sighs again and his five-o'clock shadow rubs Roque's skin like sandpaper as he shakes his head. "I wish I could bring you guys in, I really do, not just because we could seriously use your help. I've done what I can to float the idea without tipping anyone off, but right now—there are bigger things going on right now, and as much as I think we need every able hand we can get, pursuing Max, bringing you in . . . it's just not a top priority these days."

"I understand," Roque says. I wasn't whining. "Guess that means we'll be keeping up these clandestine rendez-vous a while longer, then."

Phil stiffens and draws back; when Roque twists around to look over his shoulder, he's frowning.

"I'm doing what I can," he says defensively. "Maybe I have got a personal motive for wanting to put off exposing our arrangement but you know I would never put that before the good of my country or your team." Phil both does and doesn't mean 'arrangement' euphemistically—S.H.I.E.L.D. might not care exactly _how_ Agent Coulson spends his time while he's leaking confidential intelligence to a burned Black Ops officer, but Clay will definitely have questions once it comes out who Roque's mysterious and valuable source is and who he works for, what he had to trade for the information and what he gave for free.

"I believe you," Roque says, scowling like he has no idea what Phil's talking about but inwardly certain that this is the same insecurity Phil harbored the last time they knew each other, fearful that Roque will think that he wants him to choose and fearful that he would not choose him. Roque can't blame him, not really—after all, precedent does bear him out—so he distracts him instead, with a kiss and a hand on the back of his head. "How much time have we got left?" he asks when he pulls back.

"Enough." Phil smiles, rubbing up against Roque's back. 

The hungry edge in Phil's smirk and the heat of his hardening prick send a line of fire to Roque's own cock, and he skims a hand down his belly to wrap a hand around it. "Condom?" he asks. "Where'd my wallet get to—"

"Relax," Phil says, slipping a hand under the pillow to retrieve a familiar wrapper. "I had a little time to prepare."

Roque grins and kisses him again while Phil strokes himself hard enough to roll the condom on. They're both clean, Roque knows, or at least he's fairly sure—it's always possible that Clay, in his infinite wisdom, has made another bad barebacking decision and passed whatever he caught on to Roque, but if he has it's nothing with obvious symptoms, and for all that Phil had laughed at Roque's quip about being a dead man anyway like it was actually funny Roque knows that he's always been very responsible about his physical health—but Roque insists on the barrier for ease of clean-up. There's a single-use packet of lube under the pillow too, which Phil opens and begins to spread up and down the cleft of Roque's ass, stretching and slicking his hole with gentle but insistent fingers. Roque raises his leg to grant him better access, hooking a forearm under his knee to hold his thigh in to his chest while Phil lines himself up to enter. 

Roque sighs and closes his eyes as Phil's cock pushes into him, forcing himself to concentrate only on the feeling of being filled and of his fist pumping his own cock overhand, instead of worrying about the pitch of Phil's breathless moans compared to Clay's throaty growls, differences in the size and shape of their cocks and their styles of fucking, the weight of history between Roque and Clay and the number of times they've saved each other's lives and the fact that Phil is a grown-ass man capable of looking after his own damned self . . .

He groans and grits his teeth in frustration, allowing Phil to grab the back of his head and twist him around so that he can press their mouths together, kissing him wet and messy as he works his cock in and out, trying to swallow the choked whimpers that Roque hates himself for making. "Shh," Phil says, releasing his mouth to press their foreheads together. "Let it go."

Phil lets go of his grip on Roque's head and pushes him over on the bed, face down, then pulls him up onto his hands and knees, fucking him hard until he cries out. 

Roque flees to the bathroom as soon as they're done, gathering his clothes under one arm as he goes, turning the water on hot and listening to the usual shrieking complaint from the worn-out plumbing as the showerhead sputters to life. He spends a long time under the water, wearing the complimentary bar of crappy soap down to a stub, before dressing and stepping back out into the bedroom where Phil is sitting on the bed with his own clothes piled beside him. He hands Phil the sock that he picked up along with his own, then holds on to his hand when he starts to draw it away. He pulls Phil up by the arm, takes the sock away from him and throws it on the bed with the rest of his clothes, and kisses the back of his hand.

"Don't die," he tells Phil. Phil looks up at him and blinks, slowly.

"I'll do my best," he says softly, and Roque releases his hand but he makes no move to continue on to the bathroom.

Roque picks up the envelope and leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this picture prompt](http://sexisnottheenemy.tumblr.com/post/13460371770/via-gaymalelove) (NSFW: human men, very naked [well, one of them is wearing a condom], engaged in a sexual act]) for this year's [Sex Is Not the Enemy Whateverathon](http://osaraba.livejournal.com/431536.html); the picture pretty much made me cheer "fuck yeah, bears/really butch dudes!" and slanted my fandom options towards The Losers, The Avengers movieverse, or both, and I picked both . . . and then this got all angsty and not so much in the "yay ethical sex positivity!" spirit of the challenge/inspiring tumblr. Whoops? I've been writing lots of low-angst "whee consensual sex for fun!" stuff for Porn Battle lately, at least. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Also: DO YOU HEAR ME, JOSS WHEDON? ROQUE SAID DON'T DIE.)


End file.
